It's Not Dark Yet, But It's Getting There
by Chasing Liquor
Summary: McKay and Keller reminisce about mothers, God, and sunsets. McKeller.


**Disclaimer**: All yours, MGM.

**Spoilers:** None in particular

**Description:** McKay and Keller reminisce about mothers, God, and sunsets. McKeller.

**A/N**: These one-shots just seem to be oozing out of me right now. Couldn't tell you why. I hope you enjoy this one, and if you'd be so kind, leave me a review.

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**It's Not Dark Yet, But It's Getting There**

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She never got tired of watching this sun set. It wasn't much different than the star that rose and fell above the Earth, but there was an utter uniqueness to the way these clouds on this planet cleaved the bright light and let it pass in fractured pieces that were beautiful at the right angle, painful at the wrong one.

Beside her sat McKay, reclining in his chair with a far-off look in his eyes that hinted at a depth of spirit he seldom revealed, for fear of its reception. There were times, though, in moments of quiet when it was just the two of them, that she could chip around the edges of his introversion and draw out of him the things she sought, and the things she thought he sought to share, if there was anyone who'd take him seriously.

When he caught her looking at him, he offered a mild smile before turning his eyes back out to the world.

"Are you tired of this?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"Coming out here with me. I mean, I know it's the same thing every day. Am I boring you?"

He frowned, looking confused first, then incredulous.

"Boring me? Are you out of your mind? Of course you're not."

When she smiled, he looked away again, wishing he wouldn't put things so plainly sometimes, even if it pleased her to hear such. Her eyes studied him a second or so, then found the dying orange sun.

"This reminds me of when I was a kid," she said, some old memory tumbling through her mind's eye. "I was only allowed to play outside with my friends when it was light. But sometimes by the time I finished my homework and ate dinner, the sun would already be going down."

"So they'd make you stay?"

"No, they'd let me go, for however long it was. Ten minutes or half an hour, or an hour." She smiled at the thought of her mother. "I used to always jump up from the table as soon as I was done eating, and I'd look at my mom and I'd say, 'Is it dark yet? Is it dark yet?' And mom would say, 'No, Jen. But it's getting there.'"

McKay smiled a little, but it was tempered by a crude confection of concern and trepidation. He never knew what to say, or what not to, when she spoke of her mother. He settled on something neutral.

"Sounds like you had it pretty, uh… normal… you know, before everyone figured out you were a genius."

Keller nodded, but there was a touch of sadness where moments prior there'd been none.

"Yeah. Things were always great when mom was there," she said, letting out a small sigh that wasn't small at all. "You know, I tell that story a lot."

"About playing before dark?"

She nodded again, though she didn't meet his eyes and hadn't for a while. She hid her own underneath her eyelashes.

"I don't think I'm remembering the whole thing, though. I can picture some of it, and I know it all happened. But at the same time, I'm sort of just remembering all the times I've talked about it."

McKay watched her for a short time, seeing the shift in her demeanor, and he was desperate not to see that look of disappointment on her face remain. He did about the only thing he knew how to, reaching for her hand and covering it with his.

She turned her hand up immediately, almost like a reflex, and interlocked their fingers. If it surprised him, he didn't show it. He flashed her what he hoped was a comforting half-grin before looking away, letting her keep his hand at her side.

They stayed that way in companionable silence for a minute or so, while the sun continued its descent. The temperature was cooling, but she felt the kind of warmth that came with peace, starting in the hand holding his and moving through her body from there.

She glanced over at him, seeing how relaxed he looked, and she thought maybe he might offer something.

"What about your mom?"

He looked surprised.

"Mine?"

"Yeah. What's she like?"

When he didn't immediately respond, she feared that she'd miscalculated. He spoke up eventually, though.

"I don't really talk to her much. I haven't seen her in… seven, eight years."

"Why not?"

McKay shook his head, feigning a cavalier expression.

"I don't know. I guess I got a little tired of having the same awkward dinner three times a year."

"Was it always like that?" she asked casually.

"What? Awkward?"

"Yeah."

McKay shrugged, though his shoulders were stiff in doing it. The salty scent of the ocean down below wafted up on back of a light gust of wind, and it brought with it recollections of those doomed trips to Victoria Beach.

"Well, her and Dad had their ideas about things, and I had mine. And that was it, I guess."

"So you were never close."

"Hard to be close to someone who spends most of their time blaming you for things," he said, only a little bitterly.

Keller looked on him sympathetically, but she didn't dare let it seep into her voice, lest he realize his vulnerability.

"They were unhappy?"

"Everyone's unhappy, I guess. In their own way."

"Were you?"

"Who, me? What was there to be unhappy about?"

"You just said everyone's unhappy. Doesn't that mean you too?"

"Hmm. I guess it does." He paused, frowning. "But it was fine. They just never understood how brilliant I was. Still don't, last I checked."

She began to stroke the back of the hand she held, but he didn't seem to notice, staring off into the wild, fading blue with a decidedly darker expression than the one he'd started with.

"They weren't very supportive," she said. It was a statement, not a question.

"They thought I was wasting my time with science. They thought Jeannie was too, but they always saved their disappointment for me. I guess it was more efficient just blaming me instead of both of us."

"What was their problem with science?"

McKay grunted sullenly.

"It didn't fit with the whole 'church' thing," he said, looking a little like the child he was remembering when a fresh gust tousled his hair. "We used to argue during dinner about evolution. That seems a little weird now, I guess. The other kids probably didn't spend half their time debunking 'intelligent design,' but I suppose I've always been extraordinary."

The doctor was struck by the way he'd said that last part. It wasn't posturing or arrogance, but a plain statement of fact. She understood that, because she'd lived it too. Though her childhood memories were a bit sweeter to her ears.

"Did you go to church with them?"

"'Till I was about ten. After that, I guess they didn't like the way I'd roll my eyes during the sermons."

"Because you didn't believe what he was saying?"

"Because my parents weren't really listening," he said, oblivious to his tightening grip on Keller's hand. "Sometimes I think people just want to hear things. _I_ like to hear things. You know?"

She nodded, smiling sweetly at him.

The sun was slipping away, like it always did.

When she resumed stroking his hand, he finally looked down at their joined fingers, as if it had only just occurred to him that they were touching. His gaze slowly traveled up again, until his eyes caught hers. Something in his manner drew from her an inquisitive expression.

It was all he could do not to look away from her.

"I think you can be really wonderful sometimes," he said quietly.

"Just sometimes?"

"Oh! No. Not… I didn't mean to imply it was only occasionally. At least, not around me. Around me, you've – you're extremely – "

"I'm teasing you, Rodney," she assured him with a blithe smile.

He relaxed, managing a weak smile of his own, before such time as he couldn't stand to see the kindness or affection on her face and again looked away, up into the gray-black sky, the day in its final throes, the sun all but invisible now as one of the planet's moons took its place.

Keller was surprised by the next thing he said.

"You believe in God, Jen?"

She watched him momentarily before nodding.

"Yeah, I do," she said. "Do you?"

"I'd prefer not to."

"Why's that?"

"Because if things happen by chance, then there's nobody to blame."

Keller covered their joined hands with her other one, trying her best to look at him without looking at him. She'd never seen his eyes this shade.

"It's not your fault some people are unhappy, Rodney."

It was pitch-black now, save for the lights of the city.

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe it's not. Maybe it is. I don't really know. But how great are you to say that?"

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**FIN**


End file.
